Wrath of Hades : Year of the Wizard
by The SHADOW Whisperer
Summary: Hades is angry. His eldest son, Tom Riddle, has gone too far. The wizards clearly failing, he turns to his youngest, Nico di Angelo, to complete this quest. Nico must journey to England, and hunt down the seven horcruxes, to kill his half-brother.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

What am I doing here?

That was the only thought running through Nico di Angelo's head – quite a feat for a boy with ADHD. Of course, he knew the answer to the question, even if he barely understood it. He was on a plane to England; somewhere he had never considered being, what with an uncle ready to blast him out of the sky. He had been given permission this once, though, to complete the quest bestowed upon him: kill Tom Riddle.

His own father was angry with this man, an elder son of Hades gone rogue. He was blessed by Hecate, and used it to meet his own ends. Riddle split his soul, believing it would grant him immortality. It was a coward's exit, a son of Hades fearing death. Nico was disgusted by his so called half-brother, even without knowing that it was his murderous nature that was filling Asphodel, and blocking up the paperwork his father was always complaining about.

And so, in his rage, the Lord of the Dead recruited the Ghost King to kill his son, calling upon the help of the other gods in the process. In retrospect, this was almost a good thing, in that for the first time, almost all of the gods were on the same side – except, of course, the war-hungry Ares. But Nico did not consider this angle.

He had been given Hecate's blessing, so that no one would suspect, but he was no wizard. He may have fought an enemy that made Riddle look like an irritating bug, but he could not pretend to be like the other warriors, either in camp or in the wizarding world. He was an outcast, and to any other, it would seem he preferred it that way. But in truth, he wished he could fit in with the rest, be at peace with who he was. And now, the outcast would have to murder his own brother. He could scarcely believe his misfortune.

The airplane's landing shook him from his musing, and he tramped out of the jet behind a short man in a grey suit. The smell of cigarettes awaited him in the freezing airport, as he searched fruitlessly for his escort. Hermes was meant to be in there, ready to take him to Kings Cross station. He still wanted to just shadow-travel there, but he supposed it was gaining an alibi. If he didn't... well, he might as well just go back to America now. No one could know who he was. To reveal his identity was suicidal.

He quickly spotted the god standing in an alcove, typing on his so-called iPhone. Nico slipped past the crowd towards his 'cousin', waiting for him to notice. Eventually, Hermes glanced up, and beckoned him through the door, and into a taxi. It was a strange, posh black car, utterly different to the yellow cabs of the US. He scrambled inside, and it sped off through the streets.

Nico looked out the window, absentmindedly wondering what Annabeth would say about the architecture in England. He barely realised as he drifted off to sleep in the cold leather seat.

When he awoke, they were already in London. He could see Kings Cross in the distance, a huge structure buzzing with activity. He spotted dozens of teenagers walking inside, dragging heavy trunks on trolleys, a few holding hooting owls of every colour. He guessed that these were the wizards, judging by the funny looks they received from the other mortals.

Hermes cleared his throat, and handed Nico a small train ticket.

"This is your ticket to the Hogwarts Express. Your trunk is already at the school; we thought that would be easier for you. Have fun in wizard school."

Nico nodded, slightly confused. He had never really gotten on with Hermes, and it was strange to see him acting so nice. Usually he'd be pranking him. It all made sense when the taxi drove away, and he looked at his ticket. Platform 9 ¾, honestly. There was no such place! Nico sighed, and resigned himself to searching for the place alone.

He walked around platforms 9 and 10, waiting to see if he found anyone who looked like a wizard. Unfortunately, London was filled with strangely dressed people who turned out to be normal mortals, if slightly... unusual. Eventually, just as 11 o'clock was about to arrive, and as such the train's departure, he spotted a group of people running at the barrier. He was shocked when they passed through, but supposed it was no different to his own shadow-travel. At that thought, he smacked his palm against his forehead. He could have easily melted into the shadows and appeared on the platform, but instead he had waited around like a lost mortal!

He hurried towards the barrier, praying that he could get through, even though he wasn't a real wizard. He was lucky, passing beyond the wall as if it were made of air. Inwardly sighing in relief, he sprinted onto the scarlet steam train just as it before it began to move. Rushing along the corridor, he swung his head from side to side, searching for an empty compartment. Or at least, mostly empty; he doubted he would find a truly deserted spot so late.

Finally, at the very back, he found a compartment with only one person in it. She was about a year younger than him, with blonde hair and misty blue-grey eyes. The girl had donned odd glasses, and was reading a magazine upside down. Nico could hardly read right-side up, and couldn't think why she would do this. In fact, he doubted people without dyslexia would do this normally. But he did not deny she was interesting, if a little strange. Then again, that was likely a good thing, as no sane person would even think of talking to him, and he needed intelligent company. Even if it was slightly odd.

"Hello, there. You seem troubled. There must be wrackspurts around. They fly into your ears and make your brain go fuzzy."

"Really? What kind of monsters are they? I'm Nico."

"Monsters? I suppose they could be called that, but Daddy says they should be called Phynteans. They're not dangerous, just different. I'm Luna."

"Phynteans? Never heard of them. So... what's this school like?"

"Oh, it's rather nice, but there seems to be an infestation of Musitos. They like to bite people on the arm and make them feel very tired and pale. I think you've been bitten," she said seriously, in a dreamy voice.

"You know Luna, I think you might be right," he said, utterly lost but somewhat amused. She was... unique, a breath of fresh air after years of being with the same people. Slightly insane, but good company. He wanted to fit in here, but perhaps he should do the opposite. After all, what better place for an outcast than with other outcasts?

He continued talking to Luna for the rest of the journey, and found himself growing more and more comfortable around her. Nico was slightly worried by this, but more relieved. After years of being friendless but for his sister, and later his cousin Percy, he craved a friend that did not fear him. Luna was exactly what he needed.

As the train came to a halt, he stretched his arms out above his head, and followed Luna out into the cold air. Grabbing her arm, he gently pulled her through the sea of students, towards carriages drawn by skeletal horses. He recognised them as Thestrals, an ancient species of pegasi native to the Underworld. Just before he reached them, he heard a loud, gruff voice calling his name.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

"Nico di Angelo? Is there a Nico di Angelo here?"

The voice was coming from an area swarming with eleven year olds, where a man twice the size of any mortal stood, armed with a pink umbrella and a grin. Nico shivered, recognising a slight scent of monster about him as he approached. The stranger was not exactly... intimidating, just too close to those that were for his peace of mind. He waved to Luna and continued on.

When he reached the man, the giant introduced himself as Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper of Hogwarts. Nico vaguely remembered Luna mentioning him. She had said that, while kind, he had a fetish for dangerous creatures, believing them cute. He vowed to himself to attempt to get along with him, as Luna did, but avoid his 'pets' at all costs. He'd had enough of monsters to last a lifetime.

Hagrid led him, with the first years, towards a glittering black lake, swarming with boats. Nico froze, wondering how he was meant to cross this, when it was forbidden for him to enter Poseidon's territory. Realising that he was the last one on the shore, and everyone was looking at him expectantly, he dropped a drachma in the lake and clambered in, silently praying for safe passage.

Thankfully, Poseidon seemed to be in a good mood, and he didn't drown, though a giant squid appeared reluctant to let him go without surveillance; sea creatures would never trust him. When they reached the school, a tall woman, with black hair in a strict bun - somewhat reminiscent of Athena - was waiting on the steps.

Nico took a moment to gaze around at the school, which, while impressive, paled in comparison to Annabeth's Olympus, before following her up the stairs. She led the group to a large entrance hall, with the same medieval air as the outer walls. He watched in quiet fury as a line of ghosts floated through the hall. They had fled Thanatos, and were a disgrace to the dead. His father, he knew from Chiron, had allowed this school six ghosts, including a poltergeist, but they had ignored the limit, with more than twenty that he could see. He swore that someday, he would send these traitors back to the Underworld, and Punishment.

He slipped behind the stern witch, praying that the ghosts would not recognise him as their King, else his quest would be foiled before it began. Fortunately, they were too deep in discussion to notice him, much less realise what he meant to them. They passed through the far wall without incident, and Nico released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He listened quietly, as the kids around him speculated fearfully on what test they would have to perform to be sorted. Laughing silently at some of the more outlandish ideas, he thought back to what Luna had said. Try on a hat; that was the best wizards could come up with! Not nearly so interesting as the signs received at camp!

He was shaken back to where he was as the woman, whom he later learned was Professor McGonagall, opened another set of heavy wooden doors into the Great Hall. The background buzz of noise peaked, and he watched as hundreds of students in dress-like black robes craned their necks to look at the newcomers. For the first time, he realised that he was the only one not in uniform. How he didn't notice that before, he didn't know. Blame it on the ADHD! He supposed his lack of uniform was to make him stand out as a transferee, as if he wouldn't already among these short eleven year olds.

He saw an enormous ceiling above them, one that appeared to be decorated with starlight. According to the bookish looking boy in front of him, it was enchanted to look like the sky outside. They should see the Zeus cabin. Gazing around, he counted four main tables, decorated with red, green, yellow or blue hangings, evidently representing the four houses. He also noticed a smaller, grander table at the back, containing the teachers. At the centre, was a tall man.

He had an overlong silver beard, garish purple robes and an obviously faked twinkle in his eye that Nico could see from where he stood. The man radiated safety and wisdom, and Nico didn't trust him.

McGonagall brought forward a low, three legged stool, and a tattered black wizard's hat. Nico shook his head in exasperation when it started singing. He'd thought he'd escaped the talking objects of the Hecate cabin when he left camp!

'In times of old, when I was new,  
>And Hogwarts barely started,<br>The founders of our noble school  
>Thought never to be parted.<br>United by a common goal,  
>They had the selfsame yearning<br>To make the world's best magic school  
>And pass along their learning.<br>"Together we will build and teach"  
>The four good friends decided.<br>And never did they dream that they  
>Might some day be divided.<br>For were there such friends anywhere  
>As Slytherin and Gryffindor?<br>Unless it was the second pair  
>Unless it was the second pair<br>Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,  
>So how could it have gone so wrong?<br>How could such friendships fail?  
>Why, I was there, so I can tell<br>The whole sad, sorry tale.  
>Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those<br>Whose ancestry's purest."  
>Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose<br>Intelligence is surest"  
>Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those<br>With brave deeds to their name."  
>Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot<br>And treat them just the same."  
>These differences caused little strife<br>When first they came to light.  
>For each of the four founders had<br>A house in which they might  
>Take only those they wanted, so,<br>For instance, Slytherin  
>Took only pure-blood wizards<br>Of great cunning just like him.  
>And only those of sharpest mind<br>Were taught by Ravenclaw  
>While the bravest and the boldest<br>Went to daring Gryffindor.  
>Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest<br>and taught them all she knew,  
>Thus, the Houses and their founders<br>Maintained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
>for several happy years,<br>but then discord crept among us  
>feeding on our faults and fears.<p>

The Houses that, like pillars four  
>had once held up our school<br>now turned upon each other and  
>divided, sought to rule.<br>And for a while it seemed the school  
>must meet an early end.<br>what with duelling and with fighting  
>and the clash of friend on friend.<br>And at last there came a morning  
>when old Slytherin departed<br>and though the fighting then died out  
>he left us quite downhearted.<br>And never since the founders four  
>were whittled down to three<br>have the Houses been united  
>as they once were meant to be.<p>

And now the Sorting Hat is here  
>and you all know the score:<br>I sort you into Houses  
>because that is what I'm for.<br>But this year I'll go further,  
>listen closely to my song:<br>though condemned I am to split you  
>still I worry that it's wrong,<br>though I must fulfil my duty  
>and must quarter every year<br>still I wonder whether sorting  
>may not bring the end I fear.<br>Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
>the warning history shows,<br>for our Hogwarts is in danger  
>from external, deadly foes<br>and we must unite inside her  
>or we'll crumble from within<br>I have told you, I have warned you...  
>let the Sorting now begin.'<p>

He sighed in relief when the song ended, and waited as the others stepped forward, one by one, and tried on the hat. He barely listened as it shouted out their new House, too worried over what the hat would see in his head. To know where you most belonged, it would have to see more than surface thoughts and memories, into the deepest secrets he kept. It would see who he really was; see the war, the angry revenge, the death, the Underworld. This hat could potentially reveal his entire life story to that man with the beard and the twinkle, ruining his chance of succeeding.

"Yes, yes, a wonderful sorting, as always, but we have another," said the man, in a lilting voice that was far too sweet. "For the first time in over a thousand years, Hogwarts will be playing host to a transfer student from America. He shall be joining the fifth year, and I would like you all to welcome him to our humble school. Nico di Angelo, please step forward to be sorted."

Nico hated the man already. He understood that he had to tell the students what was going on, but that didn't mean Nico had to like it. He stepped up to the stool, and waited as McGonagall lowered the hat onto his head. It slipped over his eyes slightly, and he stiffened as he lost sight of the hall. He couldn't afford to not know what was going on, not on a quest.

"Hmm, difficult, very difficult," the hat whispered in his mind, forcing Nico to fight a shiver. "You are even more difficult to place than young Mr Potter all those years ago. Although, I suppose he was less averse to letting me into his memories. Let's see what you are hiding then, young one"

Nico's eyes widened as the hat entered his memories, watching them rush through his mind. all the anger, the hatred, the fear. The desperation, the determination, the screams of war. He felt the hat trembling on his head, seeing more than it ever expected it would. When it finally reached the Underworld, and the Fields of Punishment, it ripped itself from his mind.

"Gryffindor, for staying sane. Good luck young hero," it whispered, before shouting out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Nico tramped towards the cheering table, weighed down by the ache of almost forgotten memories. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

As he sat on the cold bench, he tried to force his mind to blot out what the hat had dragged to the surface. He was already dreading the year ahead. The hat had said he was a Gryffindor for staying sane, but Nico wasn't so sure. When Bianca had died, he'd gone crazy. He'd wanted nothing more than to rip the world apart for taking her from him.

After the war, he had distanced himself from everyone but his cousin (at Percy's persistence, not Nico's choice), reluctant to get attached to anyone in case they left, just like his sister. Of course, he had gone back on that here, but perhaps that was because he had no relation to these people. They weren't family on either his mother's or father's side, and while most demigods ignored relation on their godly parent's side except for their half-siblings, Nico counted them as family. His family always left; even Percy, after finding a girlfriend. He didn't blame them, but he was afraid of it happening again. So he didn't let anyone close enough for that.

He turned to his plate, wondering how to get food. Perhaps it worked in the same way as those at camp? He was about to order a McDonald's Happy Meal with extra fries, when he noticed that none of the others were doing this. Instead, they were looking at the empty trays around them expectantly. Raising an eyebrow, he copied them, finally understanding when food appeared in front of him. It looked vaguely tasty, but he couldn't see any McDonald's here.

He began to pile food on his plate, missing his Happy Meal, and glanced around for a brazier. His eyes widened when he realised there wasn't one. And no brazier meant no sacrifice. No sacrifice meant no food for Nico. No food for Nico meant very grouchy Ghost King. He stood up, leaving his plate, and stepped up to the high table. Completely ignoring the bearded guy, whom he assumed was the Headmaster, Dumbledore, he moved towards the Athena-like woman.

"Excuse me, Professor, but is there any way I can have some sort of brazier? My religion means I have to sacrifice some food every meal."

The woman blinked slowly at his unusual request. The man beside her, a man impersonating a bat, snorted indignantly.

"Is there a problem, _sir_?" asked Nico, gazing at him with cold, hard eyes. The man just sneered.

"Severus, please," said McGonagall, breaking the glaring contest. "I apologise, Mr di Angelo. I will have one charmed for you tonight. For now, you will have to do without."

Nico thanked her, but it was half-hearted. She clearly thought little of this ritual, and didn't realise that Nico genuinely could not eat without offering a sacrifice, unless he wished to be vaporised. Demigods who did not know of their heritage could get away with it, but he most certainly couldn't. Even on a quest, an albeit smaller portion had to be given if you valued your life.

Sighing, he walked back to the Gryffindor table, and took his place, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be eating tonight. Instead, he glanced around, searching for a familiar blonde head. He saw it at the Ravenclaw table, isolated from the rest. Luna looked up, and waved brightly. He waved back, if a little less enthusiastically. Although he counted her as a friend, he was in a very bad mood at his lack of food.

After a while, the meal finally disappeared, giving him a little relief. But almost as soon as he thought this, the deserts appeared. Nico groaned, slamming his head into the table repeatedly, and gaining even more attention than he had before. Apparently, the first transferee in a thousand years was insane. Wonderful.

When the plates were finally scraped clean, and the Ghost King had a large, slightly swollen bruise forming on his forehead, Dumbledore stood to give a speech. He only gained Nico's attention twice. Once, was when he mentioned the Forbidden Forest. It sounded like the perfect place to train; secluded, and probably teeming with creatures to practise on. The second was introducing the new DADA teacher.

Dolores Umbridge. Chiron had warned Nico about her. She was the ambassador of the Ministry of Magic. They were interfering with affairs at Hogwarts, and by extension, Nico's quest. She would have to be watched, before she stuck her nose too far into his business. If the Ministry knew what he was up to, so would Voldemort.

It was a well-known fact that the Minister, Fudge, was in the pay of Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater. However, few were aware that the Minister himself was an unmarked follower, and not just a bumbling, power-hungry fool. He took that image to hide his true allegiance from the Order of the Flaming Chicken, and to keep the public unprepared. The Order was working to keep the Ministry out from under Voldemort's control, but it already was. Old Tommy just wasn't yet powerful enough to make it public.

She started her speech: Ministry taking over, you have to do what we tell you to, blah blah blah. Nothing new to add, but it seemed like it was news to the rest of the school – well, most of them. One blonde boy was smirking like he knew all and owned the place. What a moron, Nico thought. The kid was going to get himself killed.

When she had finally stopped croaking in that ridiculously high voice, Dumbledore let them go. Nico followed the sea of red and gold out of the Hall and through the corridors. He gazed around, recognising the movement of the portraits as a common occurrence in the Hecate cabin. It seemed that what little time he spent in there, helping with the construction, would be his guide in this school.

At last, when Nico was bored of looking around, and sinking back into his depression, the crowd stopped in front of a portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress. A bushy-haired girl with a small badge stepped up to her. On closer inspection of the badge, it read _P_, probably a Prefect. Dumbles had mentioned them in his long, droning speech.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," she said in a bossy voice. Nico cringed, realising this was a password. How was his ADHD mind meant to remember a password, let alone one in a foreign language? Some part of him acknowledged it as being Latin. Trying hard to keep the word in his mind – an impossible task, it seemed – he watched as the portrait swung forward to admit them, then clambered through the hole behind the rest.

When Bushy pointed out the boys' dorms, he sprinted up the stairs, checking which door held the label 'Fifth Years'. Finding it, he slammed the door open against the wall, rushing over to the only empty bed. He mostly ignored the greetings of his new roommates, half-heartedly learning their names, and dug through his new trunk. Only two names caught his interest: Harry Potter and Dean Thomas.

He knew Harry, of course, because he had cheated death, and his father liked to complain about him almost as much as he did Tom. But Dean was far more familiar. He was a son of Hephaestus. The outcast of the lot, in fact, as he preferred to create things with a pencil and paint, instead of a hammer and tongs. Nico knew now that there was another reason: magic.

"Dean? Since when did you have magic?" he asked, pausing in his packing to greet his distant cousin.

"I've had it my whole life, Death Boy. What are you here for?"

"My father. Problems with my half-brother, apparently. He sent me out this way to deal with it."

"_You here to kill him?_" he asked in Greek.

"'_Course. What else would Hades want with him? Cheating death, honestly. Who in their right mind wants to do that? Are you the only one here?_"

"_One daughter of Aphrodite, by the name of Cho Chang. Useless in any form of conflict, so I couldn't use her for training. I've been having withdrawals._"

"_We'll go down to the Forest tonight then, get some work done._" Nico had never really spoken to Dean before, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The other boys in the room were staring at them in confusion. Nico had to hold back laughter. It was evident that they had never heard a word of Ancient Greek in their lives, let alone known that their friend was fluent.

Nodding to Dean, Nico turned back to his trunk. Filtering through it, he found several sets of robes, books translated into Greek, a box of weird ingredients, and a large cauldron. He guessed there had been some kind of charm to make his trunk resemble the TARDIS in Doctor Who. He only knew what that was because the entire Apollo cabin had gone through a phase, and dragged the rest of the camp down with them.

At the very bottom, however, was a thin, velvet drawstring pouch. He pulled the strings, and tipped it upside-down, allowing a slender black stick to fall out into his palm, along with a note. He opened out the paper, revealing Greek in his father's handwriting. It read:

_This wand is made from Stygian ebony and Thestral hair. It will channel your magic._

That was it. No 'good luck, I love you son', or anything remotely fatherly. Nico sighed. He had no idea what he would have to do to earn his father's approval. As vehemently as he would deny it, that was something he craved. And it was something it appeared he would never receive.

Packing his things away, he swung himself into bed. He pulled the curtains taught, and waited. Fidgeting constantly, he tried to pretend to be asleep until the others drifted off. This seemed to be impossible, but somehow he managed to pass for a restless sleeper. As far as he knew, anyway. When at last snores filled the room from all but one bed, he yanked the hangings apart.

Scrambling out, he grabbed some training clothes and threw them on. Dean, who was doing the exact same thing, grinned as he pulled out a tiny celestial bronze hammer. Nico, knowing that this hammer most likely had a thousand contraptions attached, pulled out all eleven of his knives (he'd hidden them in various places about his clothes that day) and his Stygian iron sword. Grabbing Dean by the arm, he ran into the shadows, melting into them just before he crashed into the wall.

He felt slight tugs of resistance as he travelled, which he guessed were the wards around the school. He thanked the gods that they didn't extend to shadow-travelling. After moments of nothing but shifting darkness, he found himself surrounded by dense trees.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Nico released Dean, and hurried to peer behind the trees in all directions. After all, they didn't want any midnight wanderers to come across their training. Though, he wondered what they would see... Based on the fact that most of the people here believed that sticks were the best weapon, probably a duel with those. He couldn't understand their faith in those sticks. Sure, they had magic, but magic could be deflected with anything solid, while a sword could pass through their force-field like shields. Even with just his sword, and no proper shield, they'd have no chance.

Once he had assured the coast was clear, he turned back to Dean, who had long finished checking his side, and was instead inspecting his hammer. Nico almost recoiled at the thought of what gadgets could spring from the metal – anything made by a son of Hephaestus was a force to be reckoned with.

After a few moments, his opponent looked up, and swung his hammer with a wicked grin. Offering a smirk in return, Nico jumped forward with his sword, taking care to keep his knives hidden; he wanted to appear cocky, with only one weapon, and, by default, be underestimated.

They met with a clash of celestial bronze, sending sparks in all directions, and quickly fell into the staggered rhythm of the 'duel'. Duck, thrust, parry, thrust, duck, parry, parry, thrust, duck... It went on. Dean, beginning to tire, finally revealed the true worth of his hammer.

A four-pronged dagger burst free of the casing, ends dipped in poison. The toxin was diluted, so that it would only cause temporary paralysis, and not death. But it was still highly dangerous, and effective. Should it so much as scratch Nico, it would render the Ghost King utterly incapacitated for a full ten minutes. Ample time for a kill. As Nico was already spotted with bruises from the hammer, it appeared that Dean would win this fight.

He raised the dagger in his left hand, pushing it into the fray, forcing it closer to Nico. Slowly, he closed the distance, his hammer still fighting to deflect the sword. Two inches... one...

Suddenly, his opponent was gone, vanished. He felt cold metal at the back of his neck.

"Honestly Dean! You need to watch your back! Remember Percy's 'duck and roll' tactic? Slipping between your legs?"

"_Di immortales_! How could I forget about that? Percy nearly killed me when he did that! Wait, since when do you use Percy's tactics?"

"Since he used it against me last week. It works."

Shaking his head, Dean replaced his dagger, and rubbed a spot on his arm where Nico had nicked him. Laughing at their own mistakes, they shadow-travelled back to the dorm. Finally free of the long avoided memories, Nico was able to sleep almost peacefully.

**He was walking through the halls. It was the seventh floor, right by the tapestry of the trolls learning ballet. There was a door on the wall, one that hadn't been there before. He pushed it open, revealing a room, filled to the brim with piles of forbidden possessions. He wasn't sure how he knew they were forbidden, but he did. **

**Following instinct, he carved a path through the room, until, at the very back, he found a badly chipped bust. Beside it, lay a wig, and, more importantly, a battered tiara. The tiara was dainty, perhaps once polished silver, with an eagle carved into the face, and a brilliant blue sapphire pressed into the body of the bird. **

**Tearing his mind from its appearance, he instead noticed the strange rattling coming from it. A closer inspection showed the shadows around it warped, and changed, as though they couldn't decide which shape the tiara was. Sometimes they looked like the object itself, but others... They looked like a face.**

**A darkness hung about the tiara, and he knew. This was what he was hunting down; a piece of Voldemort's soul. He reached towards it, drawing his sword at the same time. He raised it, ready to strike it through, and rip the soul from its case...**

"Nico! Oi, Nico! Get up, Death Boy! We're gonna be late!"

"What the Hades! Dean, you bastard!" he yelled, as he was whacked with a pillow. Apparently, since using water would make Poseidon mad, murder by pillow was the next big thing.

"Oh, stop complaining. You almost missed breakfast, and McGonagall sent up your brazier. Honestly, you should have just asked me. I always keep a small one in my pocket. Now get ready. I'm hungry!" he called, pushing the curtains open on the window, and rummaging in his trunk for a robe.

Nico crawled out and dressed slowly, grumbling all the way. Grogginess was winning over hunger. Under normal circumstances, this would get him eaten by harpies, but now... He was getting used to a normal life – well, mostly normal. The only real issue was the tiara in his dream.

Thinking about it, he finally woke up properly. He knew now that there was a room on that corridor, hidden away. Demigod dreams always gave a message, and this one had told him where to find the first piece of Tom's soul. The only thing he needed now, was the way to reveal that room. And the only people he could ask without fear were Luna and Dean. Perhaps even that Aphrodite girl, Chang, but he'd rather avoid her. Aphrodite girls were always a bit airheaded, and he didn't want to deal with that.

Glancing around, he saw that there was still one other boy left in the room, Seamus. If he wanted to talk to Dean, it would have to be in Greek.

"_Hey, Dean? D'you know anything about the room opposite that painting of trolls learning ballet?_"

"_What room? There's no room there. Corridor's empty,_" he replied, looking puzzled.

"_I guess not, then. It's hidden, I saw it in a dream. I need to get in there,_" Nico sighed. Shaking his head, he tramped out of the room, falling slightly behind Dean as he didn't know the route to the Great Hall.

Making sure he still had his brazier, he piled his plate high, then made his sacrifice. _'To Hades and Hecate,' _he thought, before diving into his plate.

Once he had eaten his fill, McGonagall marched over to the table, armed with timetables. He blanched as he realised that they would be in English, and he'd have to translate all of them. He shuddered to think of what essays would be like.

Taking his with a murmured thanks and a wince, he began the long, tiresome process of unscrambling the words. When he was done, he groaned. First, he had Transfiguration. He'd heard the horror stories from Percy – being turned into a guinea pig had scarred him for life, apparently. If Nico got turned into a guinea pig, all Hades would break lose. Literally; he'd call up an army of skeletons to rough the wizard up a bit. You don't mess with a son of Hades.

Gathering up his books, he dragged himself up the staircase behind his peers. Dean, knowing why he was so reluctant, chuckled good-naturedly.

"Relax, Nico. She won't turn you into a guinea pig," he said comfortingly, then grinned evilly.

"Human transfiguration isn't until next year!" Nico's eyes widened dramatically, before he deflated, relieved. If his quest ended quickly, he wouldn't have to come back. He could get tutors from the Hecate kids, no problem. The only reason Dean still came here was that he was meant to be muggleborn, and could not be tutored at home. Though why he went to school in England when he lived in America, Nico didn't know. He made a note to ask him at some point.

Transfiguration wasn't bad, as he found it rather similar to manipulating the shadows. Dean had advised him to just say what he wanted to happen in Greek, and will it to happen. While confusing at first, this proved highly effective, and would work in all of the other subjects requiring an incantation. He was basically learning the same ideas as the rest of the class, just in a different language. So long as no one heard what he said, he could pass for a normal student.

After Transfiguration, however, perhaps the worst subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not only was it taught by the Toad, but since Nico was technically Dark, he was learning to defend himself, against himself.

He managed to force himself to climb the stairs up to the Defence classroom, but one look in and he almost walked right back out. The walls of the room had been decorated with pink tassels and pictures of kittens, in every space possible. He supposed that for any of the previous Professors it would hold paintings of dark creatures, but with the Toad... He was hard pressed to keep from vomiting at the sight.

Once everyone had sat down, the pink monster trotted through the door. She stood at the front, and smiled. Nico felt ill. Not from fear, but from sheer disgust. How anyone could be so revolting he hoped he never knew. It was the worst sight he'd ever seen – and he'd seen the Underworld.

The lesson was, for lack of a better word... interesting. Though her teaching methods were boring, and learning theory was always a drag, the arguments with his fellows were nothing short of hilarious. Toad Face went utterly red when Bushy asked why there would be no practical, but her colouring was a sight to behold when Harry mentioned Tom. Nico could barely hold back a scoff when she said that there was nothing out there that would try to kill them. If there was nothing, what were the monsters that tried to attack camp on an almost daily basis? What were the gods, who were constantly threatening to vaporise himself and his cousin? The woman was mad!

After Harry was sent to McGonagall, however, the intended monotony set in. All he could do was read that annoying book, that even he knew was out on too many counts to even be called comedy. It was just plain junk! He vowed to burn it as a sacrifice to Persephone at lunch. He never did like his stepmother.

When the torture by boredom was over at last, he sprinted up to the Common Room, stopping only when he got lost – several times – and when he realised he couldn't remember the password. After waiting five minutes for another Gryffindor to get there, he gave up, and called out to a passing ghost.

"Hey, you there! What's the password to Gryffindor Common Room?" Normally, he would be more polite, but right now, he just wasn't in the mood. Besides, this ghost had escaped Judgment, and he wasn't exactly happy with him.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia, my boy. But please, do watch your tone," the ghost replied, after checking that Nico was a Gryffindor. For a moment, Nico was surprised at his lack of reaction, then felt elated. These ghosts had been away from the Underworld so long, they thought Minos was still the Ghost King! If that were so, Nico would no longer have to hide from the ghosts, as they could not cause suspicion! Smirking slightly, he waved goodbye to the ghost, and turned back to the Fat Lady. He was about to say the password, when he noticed something.

The Fat Lady was like Hestia. She would sit around all day, helping the Gryffindors get in and out of their tower, just as Hestia tended to the fire at camp. And, also like Hestia, no one ever stopped to appreciate what she did for them. Until now, Nico had been like the rest, yet since he'd recognised the connection, he couldn't just stand by. He spoke to Hestia because she seemed lonely, and the Fat Lady was the same.

"Hi, I'm Nico di Angelo. What's your name?" he asked, smiling softly. Her eyes widened. It was immediately obvious that she had never had anyone ask her this before.

"Bianca. My name is Bianca." Nico felt as if the floor had fallen from beneath his feet. He wasn't ready to hear his sister's name again, even if he thought of it frequently. It was different, somehow. Yet it didn't make it hard to talk to Bianca. Just the opposite, in fact.

He carried on talking to Bianca while she let the other Gryffindors in. They didn't seem interested, except Dean. He'd never talked to Hestia before, but that was not because he didn't care. He was just too busy trying to fit in with his siblings. He too noticed the similarities, and was eager to make up for his lack of attention at camp with Bianca.

She had been alive back in the 1600s, and had been a member of Gryffindor House (obviously). She had, at one point, been close friends with a descendent of Gryffindor himself, a man named Wilfred. It was he who had her painting placed in front of Gryffindor Tower, after she died from a snake bite. He had wanted to see some part of her every day, as they had been close since childhood; like pseudo siblings. Eventually, though, he was killed in the dead of night by an heir of Slytherin – the same heir that had ordered the snake to kill Bianca.

His entire House had been involved in this plot, and it was this fact, and not the 'epic duel' between Salazar and Godric, that led to the current enmity between the two Houses. Nico couldn't understand this. After all, the two incidents occurred long before their time, so surely people should be over it by now? Conflict between ancestors should never effect the present – Percy and Annabeth were proof of that.

Bianca had just finished her tale when the bell rang, calling Dean and Nico to Potions. They bade her farewell, before walking slowly to the dungeons, minds whirling with what they had heard.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry it's short, I just wanted to introduce Daphne. It's more of a filler than anything. Thanks to anyone still reading this!**

Chapter Five:

Nico had never liked dungeons. They were dark and cold, a mockery of his father's palace in the Underworld. But while the palace still retained some warmth from Persephone, still promised a comfortable bed at the end of a long day – however washed out and colourless – , dungeons promised nothing but torture and death. To a normal human, they would just be slightly creepy, and claustrophobic, but Nico could feel the deathly aura like a cloak around the area. It was suffocating to him, reeking of pain and misery. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly pleased to know he had to spend a year's worth of lessons down there.

He stood with his back to classroom door, watching the fork at the end of the corridor, waiting for the Professor would arrive. Professor Severus Snape, apparently. The delightful bat that had turned his nose up at Nico's dinner ritual. He could barely contain his joy. Or his sarcasm.

Boredom quickly set in, as Dean was talking to his best friend, Seamus. Nico couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at this. It was foolish to be jealous, but Dean was the only person in Gryffindor he actually knew and liked, and he almost counted him as a friend, instead of merely distant family. This was one reason why he remained stand-offish at camp; he grew attached too easily. It had thus far proved to be his downfall, yet at Hogwarts he allowed it to happen with Luna and Dean. He wondered if that was because they too were outcasts, and he could almost believe they wouldn't leave in the end. Almost.

Anyway, he felt a little put out by this reminder that Dean had other friends whom he preferred. It was reminiscent of Percy, and Bianca. Percy left to be with Annabeth, Bianca left to be with the Hunters, and Dean left to be with Seamus. Nico was always the one left behind. It was depressing. But now was not the time to think on this.

The Potions Master swooped around the corner, cloak flapping with the motion. Nico resisted the urge to cover his nose from the lingering fumes around him; as a son of Hades, poisons smelt exceptionally strong to him, even if they were meant to be odourless. It was something Chiron had warned him about when describing the classes here. The Bat smelt like he'd been bathing in them. Disgusting.

He opened the door, ushering them inside with a sneer. The stench in the room was somehow stronger than that around Snape, and Nico felt slightly faint, trying hard not to inhale the leftover fumes. Snape stalked to the front of the class, gesturing for them all to sit, glaring all the while. He seemed to harbour a particular dislike for Harry, for some reason. Shrugging inwardly, Nico decided to redirect that hatred at himself. He thought it might be healthy for him to have a mortal enemy for once. Godly and Titan foes grew fairly dull and repetitive after a while. Also, he was in a reckless mood. Must be the potions.

He gazed around the classroom, trying to find an empty seat. His eyes immediately focused on Dean, but he had taken a place beside Seamus, and the chubby boy – Neville. There was only one entirely unoccupied table in the room, residing in no-man's land between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Judging by the utter loathing each side was shooting the other, this was certainly the most dangerous area to be.

He was sure that the Slytherins would try sabotage; the Ferret-like blonde from dinner was smirking, holding some leafy plant and checking out possible targets. Seriously, if the boy wanted to cause mayhem, he should at least be more subtle about it. Nico could see his plan from where he sat, even with some kid resembling a Minotaur (but fatter, uglier, and hairier) in the way!

Shaking his head, Nico dropped into his seat, and yanked his book free. Glancing at the board for the potion, he flipped through the pages until he found the Draught of Peace. It looked complicated, all funny names and stirs. He was unbelievably glad the book was already in Greek. If it hadn't been, he dreaded to think how long it would take to make sense of the words.

He took out his Potions Kit, quickly realising that he lacked a few ingredients. Before he could worry, however, almost the entire class got up and moved towards a cupboard he had seen out of the corner of his eye. He slipped inside, grabbing handfuls of strange plants and pickled body parts. His job was made harder by the Latin labels; English was hard enough. Already, he knew that he wouldn't like Potions.

After ten minutes, he had gathered all but three ingredients, and was among the final two students in the cupboard. Shifting to face the other side of the cupboard, he reached up for the Valerian Root on the top shelf. It was a stretch, and he almost tripped into a short dark haired girl aiming for the same root.

"Sorry," he grunted, cradling the root as if it would try to escape.

"S'fine. Mind getting me some of that?" she said breathlessly. She was wearing Slytherin green, and panting from straining her arm too much. Nico, taking pity on her, struggled for some more root. This time, he really did fall – into the shelf this time.

"Ow!" he groaned, rubbing his head. The Slytherin obviously found his pain amusing, as she started laughing quietly, shaking her head in faint exasperation.

"Only a Gryffindor. When I asked for the root, I didn't mean you should risk your remaining brain cells getting it," she murmured, taking it.

"You're welcome. And, _remaining_ brain cells? I'm not that dumb!"

"You know, technically dumb means mute. You're not helping yourself here."

"Smartass."

"And proud of it. Now get moving before Snape asks what's taking so long. We wouldn't want my brave knight getting in trouble now would we?" she said sarcastically, patting his cheek with a smirk. "The name's Daphne, by the way. Daphne Greengrass."

"Di Angelo. Nico di Angelo."

"Bond. James Bond," she mocked. Nico grinned widely.

"Bond fan?"

"When it suits me."

"I thought wizards didn't know much about Muggles?"

"Hey, I may be a Slytherin Pureblood, but I'm not as bigoted as the rest. I just have to pretend to be."

"Who said anything about bigotry? Wizards in general just don't know much about Muggles – same way as Muggles know nothing about wizards. And, pretend to be? What's that about? Why would anyone _pretend _to be bigoted?"

"It's a long story. One which we don't have time for, and I don't trust you enough to tell you. Now hurry up; Snape's coming." With that, she grabbed the last of her ingredients and pushed the door open. Nico followed her lead, sliding into his seat moments later.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for dawdling," drawled the Bat with a sneer in Nico's direction. The latter raised an eyebrow, noting that he didn't take any points off of Daphne, though she had taken just as long. Apparently Dean was telling the truth when he told Nico that Snape was prejudiced against the other Houses. He wondered if it was also true that Gryffindors were targeted by him most of all. He suspected it was, but then he hadn't seen how Snape treated the rest of the year.

He mulled over what she had said as he tried (and failed) to obey the instructions in the book. Pretend to be a bigot? Why would she have to do that? Sure, it was rumoured – truthfully, as far as he could tell – that Slytherins were Muggle-hating Dark Lord worshippers, and to fit in she would have to act the same. But Daphne didn't seem to care so much about that. When he asked, she actually looked a little... afraid. As if someone would hurt her. This was all just speculation, and he was probably completely wrong on all counts. But still... he vowed to himself that he would not let her come to any harm. She reminded him too much of his sister: sarcastic, humorous and a smartass at heart. He barely knew her, but he liked her.

Finishing his potion (a very dark red instead of turquoise and emitting green sparks instead of silvery vapour) he looked in her direction, grinning when she looked up with a smile. He felt bad, being friendly with her, when he knew that it was just opening up more chance for hurt. Even so, he had one year. One year in which his only tasks were surviving high school again, and killing his brother. For a demigod, this was almost a normal life, and he was not going to waste it. His resolve reached its peak at that moment; if he got hurt at the end, he got hurt, but by the gods he was going to live his life his way this year. He wanted to belong, and not be alone, so he was going to make it happen.

With renewed confidence and a weight off his shoulders, he winked at Daphne, and threw a leftover Valerian Root at the Ferret's cauldron, ignoring Snape's shout of "Detention!". The effects were amusing, what with Ferret falling asleep with a dreamy look on his face after breathing in the fumes. So that was what happened if you added too many roots. Who knew?


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Sorry it took so long to upload. For those of you who didn't read my last Author's Note, I was busy for the past couple of days. This is a little short, but I wanted to get something decent up quickly, so I wasn't so behind in writing. Thanks to anyone still reading this story, and I hope this chapter is up to standard.**

Chapter Six:

Things didn't start getting interesting again until after lunch. Herbology was painful, with all of the plants being used as Persephone's revenge for his existence: he was constantly being attacked by the various shrubs in the greenhouse while Professor Sprout rambled on about O.W.L.s. He dreaded to think what they would have done to him if he wasn't on a quest. It may seem vain, but he hoped his death would be a little more exciting than death by flower. It would be bad for his reputation, and no one got into Elysium for the lamest death imaginable – indirect homicide or no.

Lunch was a quiet affair; just the usual meal in his usual seat at Gryffindor table. Of course, he'd asked Dean (whom he'd caught up with on the way to the Great Hall) if students were allowed to sit at different tables at meals, but all he had received in answer was the knowledge that it was almost a taboo idea, what with the old House rivalries. It was the same for all Houses, even if they got along. Normally, Nico would disregard the prospect of a strain on his social life completely, but now was not the time. Judging by the stormy skies reflected in the ceiling, the gods were growing impatient for news. He had to find that room on the seventh floor; then he could think about breaking the status quo in this place.

When lunch was over, it was time for Divination. Nico had picked this class as a joke, wondering what these mortals had to rely on without Rachel. He knew that the Professor would be a fraud – after all, there was only one true Oracle, and she was a red headed artist in some prestigious snob school. It would be interesting to see what the wanna-be psychic came up with.

Divination was way up in the north tower, far from civilisation. He guessed this was to add to the effect. This idea was confirmed, and pushed to breaking point when he reached the actual classroom. The trapdoor alone was a bit much, as was the silver ladder that descended by itself. Ah, wizards. So much flair for the dramatic. The room, on the other hand, was either a torture chamber or a scene from a B-rated movie.

The scent of perfume and cooking sherry filled the air, choking him. Heavy pink shawls covered everything, with low lamps and candles all over the place. It was like the Aphrodite cabin, only worse. He vividly remembered waking up tied to the ceiling of the cabin when the Stolls decided to pull a prank on him. Of course, he shadow-travelled them to China afterwards, and left them to think things over for a few hours, but still. The cabin was a nightmare made real, and this room was even more terrible.

Skirting round the edge of the place, trying hard not sprint back to his dormitory and curl up into the foetal position, he took a seat near the exit, and slammed his forehead into the table, hiding his face and, by extension, protecting his poor eyes from the glare of pink. It was for this reason that his first impression of the Professor, Trelawney, was a misty voice right in front of him. He tried, and to a point succeeded, to blot out what she said, until she started passing round crystal balls. Apparently, her 'Inner Eye' told her that although the class (besides Nico) had already learnt crystal balls two years ago, they had to do the course again. Load of old hydra dung.

Nico barely glanced at his ball, instead scratching a tiny chip in the table, watching as it grew larger and larger. He couldn't see the point of doing this – if you wanted to know the future, you asked Rachel for a prophecy, or talked to one of the Apollo kids. Speaking of Apollo, Nico wondered what he would say if he were here. This entire practise was a very elaborate and ridiculous insult to him, after all.

When he got bored of scratching the chip, he just looked around, gauging the reactions of the rest of the class. The majority seemed just as miserable as he was, finding no point to the study of the glass balls of fog. Others had screwed up their faces in a fruitless attempt at seeing something. Only two looked like they could make anything out, and even with them, Nico was sure that it was just wishful thinking on their part. If any of it actually happened, it would be coincidence, and a lucky guess.

Then again, it was probably very hard work to appear to be a diviner. You would have to keep careful watch over everyone and everything around you, to make guesses at a future that might happen. Although, wizards as a whole were rather predictable, so steeped in their old traditions that you pretty much knew who they would become just from their last names. At least, you would if you had some prior connection to the wizarding world and knew about the old families. Which Nico didn't. No invented predictions for him, then.

Shaking his head clear, he looked back at the crystal ball, and blinked. Where there had once been fog, there was now a very familiar face. A cousin of sorts, one Nico had only just been considering. Apollo.

The god of Prophecy was grinning, his face alight with mischief. In the background, Nico could see the interior of the glowing Maserati, the sky whizzing past in the windows. This had to be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Stranger still, however, was when the god's voice warbled out of the ball, filling the room.

"Hey cousin! How's it goin'?" Everyone jumped as one, swinging round to face the crystal ball. Evidently, getting a message from your cousin through a divining medium was not a normal occurrence.

"Hi, erm, what are you doing in my crystal ball?" Nico asked, regaining his composure.

"Just thought I'd drop by, see what they've been doing here. By the way, what is this stuff meant to be? I'm pretty sure I never made anything like this to tell the future," Apollo replied, looking a little confused.

"This stuff is supposed to help you see with your 'Inner Eye', whatever that is. But, why are you messaging me? You never bothered to before."

"Well, yeah, but now you're the next big thing. This whole thing with your half-brother has the whole place buzzing, and I wanted to know how it was going. We might be able to see what's going on outside, but we can't tell what you've figured out. Besides, I always wondered what the mortals thought about Prophecy. It's kinda a hobby of mine. Killing two birds with one stone." Apollo looked sheepish. Nico just shook his head, checking to see how everyone had taken this event.

Trelawney had fainted, looking for all the world like a dead insect; as had the two Divination fanatics at the front. The rest were just gaping at Apollo, throwing the occasional nervous glances at their own crystal balls, as if some relative would suddenly appear in the depths. It would have been funny if he wasn't so worried about how he would explain this one. Dean was trying to smother a laugh, waving at Apollo.

"Hey, Uncle A. How're things at the Empire State Building?" Dean called, grinning like a maniac.

"Dean Thomas. Good to see ya. Your dad's been up to his old tricks again, turning your stepmother's house into one huge tripwire. Genius, that one. I think you know the rest from the sky outside?"

"Yup. Not exactly a secret."

"Wait, wait, wait," Seamus interrupted, looking livid. "I thought you didn't know who your dad was? You told me that our first day, and never said anything different. We're meant to be best mates, and you don't bother telling me something this important? What the hell, Dean?"

Dean looked ashamed, but determined. This was not looking good. The Professor was still out cold from shock, and the rest of the class wasn't about to get in between the two friends. Nico, supporting his cousin but knowing that anything he said would make things worse, waved goodbye to Apollo and climbed the ladder, back into the hall. What had originally been a lesson just for kicks, had turned into one big argument, and he did not have time for anything this petty, not when he had a job to do.

He snuck through the corridor, down a dozen flights of stairs, until he found the seventh floor. Going back to class wasn't an option he favoured, and he needed to get in this room. Chances were nothing would happen, but it couldn't hurt to try. After all, he had nothing better to do.

The wall opposite the portrait of trolls learning ballet was blank, as he knew it would be. The hallway was empty, what with it being class time, and the lack of classrooms in this part of the school. He stared hard at the bare stretch of wall, tapping his foot as he thought. Nothing much sprang to mind, so he just tried every idea he had found so far in the magical world.

He tried running into the wall – almost breaking his nose – and tapping it with his wand. He tried asking it politely and tickling it at random (he'd overheard the Weasley Twins talking about the kitchens). It was soon clear that none of these ways was going to work, and he needed to get creative. Unfortunately, creativity had never been his strong point, especially since he lost Bianca. Things were looking bleak.

He started pacing in front of the wall, thinking hard about the tiara and how he might get to it. So deep was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice when a door faded into being.


	7. URGENT please read

I apologise for not writing for so long. I lost a close family member while writing it, and I've been finding this hard to go back to. I will finish it eventually, but for now it is on HOLD. Anyone is welcome to adopt it in the meantime.


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